


5 times Jim daydreamed about Spock's pecker and the first time he didn't have to

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has a new obsession.  It lives in his first officer's trousers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times Jim daydreamed about Spock's pecker and the first time he didn't have to

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt for this fic came from the (New) Kink meme: _"You know Jim ponders whether Spock has some weird alien junk or not. He totally imagines all the ways it could be different: tentacles, abnormally large, abnormally small, retractable, shoots semen like a super-soaker, huge hairy balls, detachable, two penises (peni?), etc. So... Five times that Jim daydreamed about Spock's alien penis and the one time he finally saw it for himself."_ Thread is [here](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/330.html?thread=792906).  
> 

 

**5.**

 

Jim Kirk subscribes to the view that there’s nothing wrong with thinking. You can fantasise about the sickest shit imaginable until you’re blue in the face (or balls) and you don’t have to feel guilty about that in the slightest. Self-control is for the realm of _action_ , in which it actually becomes possible to cause damage or offence. As a great man once said, them ol’ dreams are only in your head.

So when he finds his thoughts turning to his first officer and turning _dirty_ , Jim gives a mental shrug of amused surprise and makes no effort to sidetrack that train.

The first time it happens, he’s on the bridge, sitting in his big chair like a good boy pretending to be utterly enthralled by the endless empty starfield on the main viewer, knowing that they’re still three days’ warp from anywhere remotely interesting and wishing he’d set aside some tedious paperwork for such an occasion. He is bored stiff. And, also, _stiff_ -stiff, one of those spontaneous erections set off by nothing in particular, as if his libido simply thought now a good moment to remind him that he’d been neglecting it horribly and King James would be demanding serious private attentions later on. Jim therefore shifts cunningly in the command chair so as to disguise the evidence of his, well, being human. Which thought, and which reason, makes him suddenly think of Spock—and whether Spock ever has to conceal inappropriate erections on the bridge. Spock isn’t human, and on those odd occasions when Jim has caught a glimpse of his first officer naked from the corner of his eye as they changed clothes or bathed on some horrendous landing party mission somewhere it’s always struck him that there was something, well, a bit different about Spock’s tackle, just not something he can quite identify without stopping to stare. It stands to reason that Spock’s penis, like his ears, mightn’t be exactly like the standard issue human variety. It could be shaped differently, or respond differently to touch, or anything. Perhaps Spock has inhuman control over it, the way he has inhuman control over so many other aspects of his weird Vulcan physiology?

_Perhaps it has a bone in it, like most mammals on Earth have?_

Jim shivers slightly as, all of a sudden, he is picturing Spock naked and soft.

_“You’re not into this,” Jim says. He sulks beautifully, if he does say so himself, and has always thought his pout rather fine. (It should be, given the practice time he’s put in in front of the mirror over the years.)_

_Spock’s eyebrow goes up. “From what evidence do you infer this, Jim?”_

_“Dude, your dick’s soft as a jellyfish.”_

_“Hardly conclusive evidence, Captain, since the organ has a bone in it. Observe.” He makes a surprisingly theatrical gesture towards his cock, which rises like a flag up a pole as Jim watches. It takes all of ten seconds, and then it’s hard and fat and straight and pointing at Jim’s chin. Jim decides it’s only fitting to get down on his knees for this particular miracle._

_And a very juicy miracle it is, too, plump and luscious and—_

“Captain,” someone is saying. “Captain Kirk?”

Jim blinks. His latest yeoman stands before him, looking shy and far too young. “Yes?”

“I have the latest fuel efficiency reports from Lieutenant Commander Scott for you, Captain. You said you wanted them urgently, sir.”

“So I did. I was just… meditating.” It’s an odd excuse to hear himself make, especially when he didn’t _owe_ anyone any excuses, but even odder is the strange prickle at the back of Jim’s neck that tells him he now has Spock’s full attention. “Thank you, Yeoman. How about you go and get some lunch? I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Although the fuel reports are a far more appropriate remedy for his boredom than the daydream, it’s a while before Jim can make his body see that.

**4.**

Jim’s in the shower when it occurs to him that semen is something that you’d expect to vary somewhat between species. Who was to say that Vulcans put out 5 mils or so of whitish kinda salty spunk? It might be green. It might be sweet. It might be chemically addictive, the first drop on his tongue turning Jim into a shameless slut for daily, hourly, Spock spunk. There might be _oodles_ of the stuff. Hell, Spock might shoot jizz like a fucking water cannon, making a facial more like a carwash and an ejaculation up your butt more like an enema. Should he really be finding that idea so exciting? Jim shrugs to himself. A bit of healthy curiosity never hurt anyone.

 

**3.**

His fantasies about his first officer’s trouser snake are growing more elaborate, and it’s totally paying off for Jim in really excellent jerk sessions.

His latest fantasy is a two-part greenish cock monster. The main part looks like fairly standard humanoid cock, a bit thinner perhaps than what Jim’s currently stroking, but eminently ride-able. But springing from the base of that is a sort of tendril thing, like a long ( _very_ long), skinny, almost prehensile penis, which Spock mostly keeps wound neatly around the main dick to form a thicker, more textured—- _oh God, was his brain crazy hot or what?_

Jim groans and gives his balls a tug, stopping briefly to wonder whether Spock has balls in the usual location. Hadn’t he once heard something about it being below the belt to hit a Vulcan above the belt if that meant his lower back?

Anyway, yeah, Spock cock. Jim likes this set of imaginary genitalia chiefly for its versatility. It can function just like human dick when that’s what Jim needs, but when they’re feeling a bit more adventurous Spock can separate the two and make Jim suck on the end of the longer one while he’s riding the main one (oh, God, Jim’s so jealous of someone who—even if it’s just in his naughty schoolboy imagination—can get a blowjob while he’s fucking someone’s ass). Or he can stick the longer one up Jim’s ass while Jim’s fucking him ( _perfect_ ). Maybe he can even get that slender tip inside Jim’s slit and—

Quite to his surprise—not at all a bad surprise, mind you—Jim ejaculates all over his hand and the uniform he really should have removed when he got off shift.

 

 

**2.**

He’s sparring with Spock, something he suspects appeals more to his secret inner masochist than his desire to keep fit. Or possibly it’s the challenge he can’t resist. Either way, Jim doesn’t need any hints from passing clairvoyants to know that, unarmed and playing fair, he is never likely to win against Spock.

“I recommend concession,” Spock says flatly, having pinned Jim flat to the mat so easily he almost looks bored.

Jim struggles anyway. He has successfully rolled much larger guys, but Spock seems to have some sort of weird gravity-distorting super-power that enables him to exert more downwards force than Jim’s physics-oriented mind can immediately account for. Possibly he’d have more computing power to spare for the physics if he wasn’t enjoying this so much.

It’s while he’s doing his standard futile-but-fuck-it-I-won’t-give-up-that-easy routine that Jim registers the distinct weight and pressure of a semi (or Vulcan variation thereupon) against his thigh. Jim freezes for a long moment, then concedes quickly so he can escape the situation before his own suddenly-urgent erection can be noticed. If it hasn’t been noticed already, that is. Spock’s nothing if not observant.

“That’ll do,” Jim says, springing to his feet as soon as Spock lets him free. “I’m supposed to drop by sickbay to cheer up Ensign Takacs.”

Spock has pulled himself up into a sort of modified yoga position, and now looks as contented and elegant as a cat in the sun.

Jim wonders what Spock would do if he hit on him, and makes a quick exit before he’s tempted to risk it.

He nukes himself under the sonics for just long enough to remove the tang of sweat and convince his cock that after shift really would be a better time if it wants the works.

Later, Jim sets up his little shrine of self-love (which ain’t so vile a sin as self-neglecting, after all) in his quarters: his favourite lube with the faintly spicy scent that unlike most of the others in his collection makes him think of hot _male_ flesh, soothing easily ignorable music to blot out all sound which might remind him jarringly of where he is at some crucial moment, a fresh cumrag, soft pillows to sprawl on, and an ambient temperature suited for naked lounging. Jim likes his little rituals, when he has the time; it’s the drama queen in him, he thinks.

To begin with, he interlocks his fingers beneath his head and just lies there, thinking, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation. He’s in the mood for something a bit elaborate, not some vague fly-by-fantasy of the kind that gets him off but leaves him with no clear recollection of the experience. Tonight, he wants to savour.

The beginning, then, how would it begin?

 _”Captain,” Spock says in a distinctly throaty voice,_ “Jim. _Please assume a prone posture. I wish to sodomise you with some vigour.”_

Um, yeah. That works. Actually, scratch that. Lying prone? He wouldn’t get to see the Spock Cock, which has somehow acquired capital letters in his mind. He needs to see the Spock Cock.

An image pops into Jim’s head then, more like a 3D technical drawing, and Jim’s breath catches even as he feels himself smirk.

_It’s maybe ten inches long, or a bit longer, but as slender as one of Spock’s long, precise fingers. And it’s self-lubricating, too, so Spock can basically grab you, rip off your clothes and his own, push you against a wall and start sliding it in, no preparation, no lube, nothing, just this thin, long slick cock sliding in easy as a finger._

_But it doesn’t stay thin or easy or even long, oh no. Because Spock’s exotic alien cock is built of layer upon layer of erectile tissue, and Spock’s ridiculously fine control over his own body (the control that means he can just_ decide _to lower his heart-rate, that allowed him on one occasion just to_ decide _to stop breathing until he passed out so that they could use the ruse of a sick crew-member to escape an unpleasant situation before it went entirely to hell) means Spock can control the flow of blood to those layers independently. So as he gets more and more into it, and allows more and more of the layers to engorge with blood, his lovely Spock Cock gets fuller and thicker and shorter and harder. So he has a cock for all occasions, really, a tool for any job whether it’s a gentle introduction to anal penetration for a timid virgin or a human-standard rogering or even an experience more or less akin to fisting but with the added bonus of a size-adjustable fist. So Spock could go in finger-slim and, as the fuck progressed and you got more and more eager to take all you could get, he could make it grow until you were one happy little bastard. Or until you felt stretched to bursting. Or until you felt quite sure you’d been opened so wide that no other cock would ever make you feel remotely full again._

Jim sighs happily, reaching for his very human and now-leaking prick. Yeah, that’ll do it. _Gah._

Spock would never know just how much pleasure he’d caused just by being all half-Vulcan and beautiful.

**1.**

Jim doesn’t normally do this, really he doesn’t. It kinda feels like desperation when he resorts to it, and he doesn’t like that feeling, but just at the moment it’s feeling fucking good and damn well necessary to stick two slick fingers up his ass and ride them while he jerks it. It’s been fucking _weeks_ and he’s still hung up on the idea of letting Spock fuck him, begging Spock to use whatever alien junk he’s packing to get Jim off to the best of his ability. He’s not normally so exact in his desires; ordinarily Jim’s attraction is to a person, not an act, and he’ll fantasise about fucking that person as well as being fucked, sucking as well as being sucked, hands and tongues and fingers and oh, god, just humping like kids in their clothes. But none of these thoughts will hold him lately, not against the weight of his new obsession. So he’s screwing himself on his fingers and, yeah, he’s gone beyond imagining it was the Spock Cock into _wishing_ it was the Spock Cock.

_Maybe it’s covered in strange nodules, not like veins, more like the knots in real old-fashioned timber, lumpy and hard and scattered at random. Maybe they really kinda hurt rubbing into you, stretching you in odd places at unexpected moments and making you bite your lip until you taste blood but, of course, you get used to it and once you do you can never go back to boring old smooth-and-easy-to-take._

Jim whimpers and shudders and thinks that perhaps, to make the fantasy more real, he should invest in some oddly-shaped dildos the next time they stop by an enlightened planet for shore-leave or something.

Or, hell, perhaps he should think seriously about just asking Spock whether he might consider helping his captain out with a bit of ~~inter-species co-operative research~~ good hard sodomy. Or a lot of it; Jim’s nothing if not greedy when it comes to his flesh-related pleasures.

 

 

**+1.**

It’s taken _months_ for Jim to work up to this moment. Months to recognise why his fantasies, usually full of an endless variety of anonymous lovers, had changed. A week to get up the courage to ask Uhura if she and Spock had _really_ broken up, and (after the obligatory pause to assure her that no, he wasn’t suggesting that she couldn’t get by without a man and he wasn’t volunteering to replace Spock in her life and, yes, he might still hit on her from time to time but that was just because she was _there_ , same reason people climbed mountains, really) to request her advice about hitting on Vulcans. Several more days to ponder what she’d said, about how a certain gesture, offer of Vulcan “kiss”, whatever, would be understood as an expression of interest in a romantic relationship and if Spock wasn’t interested he’d just politely ignore it and it’d never be mentioned again. A few more days looking for the right moment, before he’d eventually shrugged and thought _screw it_ and just done it.

“Jim,” Spock says, “I believe we should divest ourselves of our uniform attire at this juncture.”

That’s the sort of thing no one needs to tell Jim Kirk twice. He’s naked and lounging back against a wall looking (hopefully) deliciously enticing while Spock is still removing his second sock. Apparently, if you’re Spock, an essential part of preparation for sex involves ensuring your boots are placed neatly out of the way so as not to pose a tripping hazard. Whatever. Jim’s not complaining about all this bending over on Spock’s part.

Spock strips in the most businesslike, unsexy, unprovocative way you could possibly imagine, and yet somehow it _is_ sexy. Perhaps just because it’s Spock. Beautiful, ridiculously hot Spock. His gaze trails appreciatively down that skinny, hairy chest…

Jim takes one look at Spock’s dick and smiles delightedly.

“Oh my God, you mean it really _is—”_

James T. Kirk grins. His life is awesome.

***END***

Readers who enjoyed this might also enjoy _Jim Kirk's Adventures in Xenobiology_ by [](http://diane-kepler.livejournal.com/profile)[**diane_kepler**](http://diane-kepler.livejournal.com/)\-- [part one,](http://diane-kepler.livejournal.com/70992.html) [part two](http://diane-kepler.livejournal.com/71598.html). Which is excellent, and uses a version of Spock's genitals based on one of those above. And no, I'm not telling you which, that would spoil it. :-)


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